Soul Stealer
by Nicholas Tessarolo
Summary: A male Rogue, after being experimented upon by a private Canadian organization, has escaped and been on the run for months. His travels have taken him to the east coast of the United States. Canada wants him dead, America wants him in prison, Xavier wan
1. Awaken

Darkness greeted his closed eyes and for a moment he was confused. Where was he? What had he been doing? Light blossomed from flame in the center of his upturned palm and he looked around. Memories, he could still hear the woman whose power had been the ability to create and control fire, inside his head. Using another of his pilfered abilities, he shunted her aside and focused on his surroundings. Where the hell was he? The walls were a rough stone, the door a blank canvas of splintery brown. No handle, no portal. Frowning, he trapped the ball of flame in a bubble using again the power he'd gotten from a psion, telekinesis and telepathy primarily. The flame moved silently in front of him as he went to the door and touched it with a calloused finger, which was when he first realized he was nude. He'd been stripped of the heavy ankle length wool coat, his clothes, and the gloves he wore so his skin wouldn't touch another's. The only remaining article was the stainless ball chain strung around his neck carrying a rectangle of engraved metal. Turning, the ball of flame illuminated the rickety cot that lined the wall opposite the door. The stained naked stretched canvas, marred only by the dirty gray blanket that had been covering him, still carried the dent of his weight. With a grunt and a passing look of interest he returned his attention to the door. He could feasibly teleport, the door was unguarded from what he could sense, but they might be wearing helmet's like the great Magneto's that kept the likes of him and others, even someone as strong as Charles Xavier, out. It was too risky, even with the healing factor he'd acquired from a teenaged boy, which was an unwarranted boom because he had always coveted the mutation of the greatly feared and despised Wolverine, so he returned to his cot. Covering himself with the ratty blanket, he prepared to wait. The rest of the mutant power he'd acquired when he received the healing factor kicked in as the sounds of footsteps reached his ears alongside the smell of heavy perfume through the thick stonewalls and oaken door. He sneezed at the odor and waited for the approaching person to carry himself down the hall that apparently lead to this room. He absently scratched the stubble gathered around his mouth as the footsteps became audible without the aid of his enhanced hearing. As the sound of a key turning in an infrequently used lock creaked through the small dungeon, he realized that the man behind the door was either powerful enough to block him or he was wearing a neural blocker. He made the flame disappear as the door opened and flooded the room with harsh fluorescent light.

"Ah-h-h-h, John, I see you're awake." The older man's voice was smooth as silk, caressing his ears and mind as silk would caress the skin. It set him on edge instantly.

"The name is Psion," he told the other man and shook the tag around his neck at him for punctuation.

"Which is amusing since your powers in that realm, however formidable, were not your own." The older man smirked, "It is amusing that it is not even below the Canadian government to experiment on and use members of our race, is it not."

"Spare me."

"You don't believe me? Or do you not remember…how cliché."

"I remember just fine," Psion said in a low voice. The experimentation was the main reason he was such a grab bag of mutant abilities. The psionic powers had been the first. They were supposedly 'required' for him to cope with what was to come. He shuddered at the memory of manacled captive mutants being lead one at a time and kept still with a crackling cattle prod as he laid hands on them and absorbed enough of them to manifest their powers. "Why am I here?"

"Now, now, is that anyway to speak to a gracious host?"

Psion growled, "Lets try something easier, who are you?"

The older man sighed overdramatically and fluffed his cape, "I see you are as they warned me. My name is Hassan, and you are here because you are too dangerous to be left on the street."

Psion raised an eyebrow and spoke frankly in a flat voice, "The only thing keeping me here right now is curiosity, and perhaps my severely lacking state of clothes."

"Oh really? You certainly have a high opinion of yourself."

Psion said nothing, only stared at Hassan with the unbiased eyes of a predator. Hassan cleared his throat and spoke to fill the silence. "You have accrued quite a reputation for yourself John. I have heard rumors that the X-Men are looking to recruit you, the American military in their racist stupor want you for experimentation or as an assassin or perhaps both, the Canadian government has put a price on your head so large I could retire as an even wealthier man if I were to hand you over…"

"If they could hold me, which they've already proven incapable of doing…"

"Even the infamous Magneto has offered a reward for information concerning your whereabouts," Hassan went on, unfazed.

Psion snorted, "The X-Men already have someone like me. America wants me because Canada wants me dead. And Magneto can go suck it for all I care, I won't be part and parcel to his ignorant jihad on humanity, nor will I be used like Rogue was at the Liberty Island scandal."

Hassan merely stood in the doorway looking smug as Psion finished his diatribe, "Do you feel better?" Psion merely glared as Hassan went on, "I invite you to try to escape John."

"Where are my clothes?"

"They are being laundered." Hassan said shortly but with a look of expectation.

Psion wasn't going to give him the pleasure of doing what was expected, "If I am going to stick around can I at least have a clean cot and a shower?" He smiled inwardly with satisfaction at the shock that flitted across the older man's face.

"Curious."

"That I am." It was what was keeping him in place. He knew he couldn't have teleported now, or phase through the floor, or even blast the wall of his cell out and escape. There were inhibitors in place to halt the powers he could have used to escape. The only thing left for him would have been fire, ice, and the myriad of psionic powers he'd developed and mastered over the past years. But if he wanted too there was nothing that could keep him here. Ice could kill as easily as fire. "Well?"


	2. Meeting Place

His laundered clothes were waiting for him in the room affixed to the bathroom where he'd showered. It was an improvement from the dark cell with its wood paneling and double sized bed in the center of the room. He slipped into his jeans then pulled his shirt on over his head, leaving his coat behind on its hanger once his sneakers were on and his gloves firmly in place. One of the guards was waiting outside his new room to escort him to the dining room. Hassan had said several more mutants who were in the same predicament, as Psion would join them, but he didn't care as long as the food was good. He made a point to remember to ask Hassan where his sword had been taken. Asking the guard was pointless, they weren't programmed to speak or think freely. Psion looked up at the mechanical behemoth, explaining why he had felt no human presence beyond his prior cell door, and told it "Lead on fella."

The droid clicked off down the hall and Psion followed at a distance missing the familiar comforting weight of his sword at his left hip. It made him as uneasy as inhibitors on his powers. He felt…caged. It was why he avoided cities whenever possible, well it was one of the reasons. There were dreams involved that kept him out places like New York and Chicago specifically, but the way the buildings rose up so high made him feel as if he would never see the beauty of open space and smell clean air again. The droid stopped suddenly and Psion cracked into him, stumbling backwards and clutching his nose. The healing factor kicked in and the pain subsided slightly as the damage was repaired but his nose still smarted. Cursing, he peered around the droid and then directly into its neutral face, "Why did we stop?"  
The droid pointed to the door on his left, "The dining room is through here sir" it said with a nasally voice that echoed mechanically.

"Oh, thank you." Psion looked at the door, probing it automatically with his mind before pushing it open and entering the brightly, but warmly, lit dining room. Hassan was already seated at the head, naturally. Psion smirked and went to the nearest seat, choosing a setting that gave him a clear view of Hassan, the door he'd come through, and the only other visible two in the room. Propping his elbows on the table, fingers clasped before his mouth, he sat and waited. He didn't have to wait very long. His ears picked up a pair of footsteps in the hall before the door opened to admit a thin timid girl with white hair. She hesitated, her dark blue eyes unable to mask the surprise at Psion's appearance at the table. He thought she must be used to the usual dinner guests and this new face set her on edge, he could smell it in her scent as she crossed the distance to the table and sat down harder than was necessary.

"Chloe, I would like you to meet John."

Psion ignored him as he nodded a greeting for Chloe. The look on her face told him that she didn't like being called by her real first name either. Psion grinned behind his hands, a practiced measure that never showed in the rest of his face now as the door opened to admit two more people. They were older than he, much older, and he thought he recognized one of them. They were introduced and Psion did no more to acknowledge their presence than he had given to Chloe. Soon, the table was full with people who laughed and spoke jovially amongst themselves, even with Hassan. It disgusted him that these people, obvious captives, were taking their prison sentence so lightly. The only other person at the table who didn't have anything to say was Chloe, who sat sullenly in her chair staring at the center of the expensive china plate set before her. Psion had a moment of compassion for her that was interrupted by the serving droids bringing their dinner. He ate graciously, not having had a solid meal in weeks. When the droids cleared the table, Hassan stood and began to talk. Psion ignored him, not even letting the words register in his head as the pompous fool rambled on. Most listened, Chloe didn't, nor did an African American boy of about thirteen who sat a couple seats away from Chloe. Psion logged that information away for future reference when he decided to escape. Those two didn't like it here, but stayed because they had nowhere else to go, that much he gathered from his quick telepathic jaunt through their heads undetected. He could use them to further his escape and perhaps they would be able to escape as well. If anything, they might be able to tell him how to disable the inhibitors willingly or not. Hassan concluded his speech, part of which Psion was sure mentioned and introduced him to everyone else. As people filed past to leave some offered a welcome, which he returned graciously. As Hassan passed, Psion grabbed his wrist and said nothing. Intelligently, Hassan rose no alarm but sat down as if he hadn't been stopped and it had been his intention all along to sit down and converse with him.

"Where is my blade?"

"What, pray tell, are you speaking off?"

"My sword, Hassan, where is it?"

"I don't recall you ever having a sword my dear boy."

"It was the black handle that was on my belt, steel throat and pommel, brass guard vaguely c-shaped?"

"OH, yes, I do remember that. That was a sword you say? No matter, it was confiscated. No weapons are allowed here, at least by ownership of the mutants."

"Confiscated to where." And Psion cursed silently not for the first time at not being able to read the blasted man's mind.

"Not that it would matter because there is no way you could get to it, but in the storage lock up in the basement. And do try not to break in and retrieve it."

Psion snorted and released Hassan's wrist. The older man stood, straightened his sleeve and swept out of the room. Psion was soon alone in the dining room, or so he thought. So absorbed in formulating the plan to retrieve his blade that he hadn't realized Chloe and the small African American boy had remained behind as well. He jumped backwards, causing his chair to tilt slightly, when he saw them sitting there.

"So what's your power?" The African American boy asked brightly.

"Its complicated kid. What's your name?"

"Frank, but most people around here call me Frankie." He flashed very white teeth, "So what did you want from Hassan?"

"He wanted his weapon back." Chloe said in a soft and feminine voice. He wouldn't have guessed, but perhaps it was her boyish figure that had thrown him off before.

"How did you hear?"

Chloe tapped her ears through her mane of white hair, "One of the powers of my mutation."

"You're not a healer like Wolverine are you…"

Chloe shook her head, Psion was aware of Frankie's head whipping back and forth as he followed the conversation as she said "I wouldn't mind that one, but my hearing, eyesight, and sense of smell are all hypersensitive. Better than the animals." Chloe shrugged, "Why do you want it back?"

Psion massaged the bridge of his nose. "That is also complicated, but with it I would be better equipped to escape this prison." He noted that both Chloe's and Frankie's eyes light up and knew he'd been right, "What's your power Frankie?" As the question was out, he hated himself at the thoughts he had immediately after. Chloe was pointless, he already had what she had, but maybe Frankie's would be something new that he could use to make his escape easier.


	3. Revelation

Psion had suggested leaving the dining room when the droids started taking an interest in them before Frankie had divulged his mutation. They had retired to Psion's room and he had set up a telekinetic barrier against listening devices once they were all settled. He re-asked the question once he was seated at the corner desk.

"I'm a shape shifter," Frankie said with a bright smile. Psion watched, as Frankie became an exact copy of Chloe. Disappointment flooded through him as Frankie became himself again. He could do that too, the part of him that was that little girl itched to transform but he put the feeling down.

"That could be very useful."

"Well, no, see…I can only hold shape for five minutes. Hassan's inhibitors let me change long enough so I can at least practice, but nothing beyond five minutes. Ten sometimes if it's a minor change." Frankie shrugged and Psion filed it away. That was a useful piece of information, it meant he couldn't take on Hassan's form and march down stairs and demand his blade. Droid guards left fire and ice, and fire would be more dangerous for the people in the house. It left ice, and he cursed internally. Limited options, he hated limited options and he hated this house. He slammed his fist down hard on the desktop.

"What's the matter?" Chloe asked.

"Come on, tell us your power!" Frankie exclaimed at the same time. Psion sighed and looked at them both, "You've heard of the X-Men."

There was a chorus of "yes."

"You know who Rogue is?"

Chloe recoiled from him, her breath sucking sharply across lips and teeth, and looked at him as if he were a viper about to strike. Frankie only looked at him quizzically, which made sense if the kid was only thirteen and had been living on the street for five years. His mental jaunt through the kid's memories told him a lot of things, but mostly that when his mutation had first manifested, he had immediately begun to use it to his advantage as a thief. His question was laced with innocence, "Who is she? What does she do? And what's the matter Chloe?"

"He's a soul stealer!" Chloe was looking at him with disgust now and he growled.

Frankie looked to him for an explanation and Psion felt his temper cool by the kid's reaction, looking to the source instead of prejudice. "It means whoever I touch," he wiggled his tightly gloved fingers in the air between them, "I absorb a part of them into myself through our physical skin-to-skin contact; a part of their life force, and in the case of mutants, their powers. When I was your age I couldn't control it, eventually though I learned how to recall the people who I touch and can use their powers."

Frankie stared and breathed a low "wow."

"It's not cool, Frankie, he steals peoples souls. If he holds on long enough, he can kill you."

"Thank you for that astute and obtuse estimation, Chloe." Psion said softly and slowly, "Don't judge what you don't understand. Do you think it's easy? Do you think I enjoy being incapable of human contact for the rest of my life? I'll never be able to fall in love, have a family, because I would kill them. Human nature doesn't change between 'humans' and mutants; even within my own kind I'm an outcast. Rogue is the only other one like me that I've discovered and she was lucky."

"She fell in with the right people at the right time," Chloe said. The fire of disgust that had been blazing in her eyes had been quenched. "I – I'm sorry John."

"That's not my name."

"What's your real name?" Frankie asked.

Unconsciously he touched fingertips to the tag under his shirt as he answer, "It's Psion."

"But you're a so – you're a – you're not a psionic." Chloe said, her voice told him she was struggling not with his mutation but with understanding. He'd already told more to these two about himself than he had ever divulged to anyone before in his twenty years, so he figured he might as well not break the trend tonight.

"I am, now, among a lot of other things."

"Like what?" Frankie said, finally sitting back down on the edge of the bed beside Chloe.

"I'm telepathic and telekinetic that brings with it a whole host of psionic abilities that are too numerous to list. I have uncharted regenerative abilities, heightened senses of smell, hearing, and eyesight. I can teleport, phase through a wall, create and control fire and ice. Create and direct blasts of pure energy. I can shift shape, multiply or split myself into exact copies that carry the same abilities as I do. I can even fly, but I prefer the ground."

Chloe let out a low whistle as Frankie's eyes finally stopped growing wider. Chloe finally asked the how and why and reluctantly he told them.

"When it first manifested itself, my parents had no idea what the problem was. They weren't anti-mutant, in fact they thought it would be neat to have a special ability, but they didn't understand mine. It was more fear of my well being than anything else that sent me to a quote unquote hospital for study. I was shipped around like so much meat until the Canadian government got a hold of me with their reinstituted weapon X program, which I'll never understand since I'm American, but who cares. When they figured out what I was, the military scientists were in heaven. They started having mutant's captured, the first ones being psionics. They were afraid that given the nature of my…ability, there would be problems with my mental stability. They wanted me to be able to cope so I would be useful to them. Once I had mastered those basics and they were sure I would be able to control the inherited powers while keeping the people separate and silent, they sent soldiers out to round up mutants with powers they thought would be useful. They would bring them in one at a time and force them to stand still while another soldier forced me to touch them long enough to gain their abilities." Psion fell silent for long moments as the memory of those hated days flashed through his mind and the souls threatened at the edge of his mental barrier.

"The head of the project dubbed me Psion since the psionic abilities were the first beneficial powers I ever mastered. Eventually, their zeal was their undoing. They unwittingly made me too powerful to contain and I escaped." He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the tag on its chain. "I wear this to remind me of all the people I hurt becoming what I am and to remind me of all the people who were involved in that process. The memories are vivid on their own without the talisman but its all I have left of the life before…this."

"I'm sorry," Chloe finally said hoarsely.

"For what?"

"For passing such a quick judgment. The horror stories painted you and even Rogue as mutants who were to be feared and mistrusted. If you turned your back you'd be dead. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Nobody does."

"If you told though, maybe…"

"No, Chloe, it wouldn't and I won't. It's not worth it. I've lived with it this long."

"But the Wolverine is…"

"A very old man but barely looks thirty. The regenerative abilities even take on the effects of aging. I know I will live a long time like this. Believe me, when I inadvertently inherited it saving a boy barely older than Frankie, I actually enjoyed the idea of eventually dying of old age, but now even that has been denied of me." Psion shrugged, "Its getting late you two, and I'm tired."

Chloe nodded and stood, nudging Frankie when he didn't move, so enraptured with Psion was he. Psion walked them to the door and bid them goodnight, fixing in place the telekinetic barrier before striping down to his boxers and crawling into bed. He fell asleep wishing his hand were curled around the familiar weight of his sword.


	4. To Heal, or Not to Heal

"I see you met Chloe and Frankie last night, did you find their company pleasant?"

Psion stared across the large overly ornate wooden desk, "And?"

Hassan smiled indulgently, "They aren't exactly your type of…companion."

"And?"

"I mean, they weren't paraded before you at the behest of a cattle prod."

Psion could feel the blood rushing to his face but he refused to lose his composure, remaining silent and tapping into one of his abilities to cool his temper as well as his skin.

"What were you doing last night?"

Silence.

"The surveillance in your room cut out and didn't come back online until this morning John, what were you and the other children talking about?"

Silence.

"How long are you going to let them believe they are your friends? When are you going to cast them aside? Once you've used them all up to your own goals?"

Psion felt something snap inside him and felt his body tensing to strike when Hassan sighed and reached for the small metal box bearing a red button that he depressed. Psion jerked in his chair, his hands involuntarily clenching around the metal arm rests and he received a solid jolt of constant, concentrated pain before two things happened. The healing dulled it and he absorbed it, transferring it across the air between them and into the older man's outstretched hand. Hassan jerked and his mouth opened just short of a scream, but he released the button and sagged into his cushy leather chair, panting. Psion turned his gaze to the landscape outside the window, waiting patiently for the older man to recover.

"You are full of surprises. Your file doesn't contain that information. What did you just do?"

"Tell me why I would tell you?"

"Because I asked." Hassan's voice had taken on an edge like razor sharp steel that Psion didn't believe he was capable of until that moment. He sat back, feeling for the first time a measure of respect. Clearly he had underestimated Hassan. He wasn't used to that, he hadn't made that mistake in a very long time. He'd grown complacent.

"Tell me why I _should_ tell you then? You know now your little torture device won't work."

In response, Hassan snapped his fingers and two droids sauntered into the room. "You may be able to absorb energy and channel it elsewhere, but I doubt you can absorb a bullet…and believe me, when they are through with you that wonderful healing factor won't be able to save you, or your two new friends."

"Energy absorption was something I picked up once I…escaped from the compound in Alberta. I was naked, homeless, exhausted. I passed out somewhere, I remember hearing cars. Someone was kind to me and before I could get away, she'd touched my bare skin. I ran."

"And the transference?"

"I don't know how it works, I just know how to trigger it. Electronic devices, I can change a television channel with a blink, start a blender with a snap of my fingers…I just channeled the energy with that power into the device and conductivity did the rest." Psion shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"I meant, where did you get it?"

"The compound in Alberta. They didn't write everything they exposed me to down in that pretty little file because they were afraid people like you would get a hold of it. You can imagine the damage that power could do to coordinating military efforts, in fact that was the one power they shouldn't have exposed me too. It was responsible largely for my ease of escape."

"Intriguing" Hassan said and set the device aside, "I begin to understand now why so many people want you dead or recruited."

"I don't want anything to do with that or them, I just want to find somewhere to live alone in peace."

"And yet you wanted something to do with Chloe and Frankie."

"They're kids, Hassan, they don't deserve to be kept here under lock and key. They should be out there" he jerked his hand toward the window and the freedom it so cruelly represented "living, not stuck here as one of your lab rats."

Hassan only smiled indulgently again. Psion was seized with the desire to rip that smile off his face and launched himself across the desk. He had the satisfying sensation of feeling the flesh of Hassan's slender neck being clasped in his hands, unaware before his side erupted with pain. More pain and his vision went black.

He woke in a hospital bed and his first thought was that he was too valuable for Hassan to commit to killing. That gave him leverage, somehow, but he couldn't figure out what leverage it was and how to exercise it…yet. Frankie's face appeared and lit up with joy.

"Hey! He's all right! Swan, he's all right?"

"Who's Swan?" Psion asked as he sat up in bed. A soft brief pain blossomed from along the surface of his skin but he ignored it.

Chloe floated over too the other side of the bed, "I'm Swan."

"When did you learn how to fly kid?"

"I've always been able to fly, I just haven't felt like it since I came here." Swan grinned.

"So you're going by your _real_ name now, what's yours Frankie."

Frankie's grin slid from his face and he looked down at his feet, "I've never had a cool nickname like Psion or Swan, it's always just been Frankie or street rat, or little bastard."

Swan suddenly looked as uncomfortable as Psion felt, but he knew how to deal "Listen, Shift…"

That had done it, Frankie's eyes lit up like the fourth of July. "Shift! That's awesome! Thanks Psion!"

Psion winked over at Swan and sat up further, "What's the word? Why was I hospitalized?"

"Hassan said you were caught trying to sneak into the lock up down in the basement and were punished."

Psion snorted, eliciting a question from Swan.

"What really happened?"

"Hassan and I had a little disagreement about how he treats the both of you and I tried to kill him." Psion instantly regretted telling them that because he recognized the look in their eyes. Love. His uncontrolled defense of them had just earned him two companions that would go to the ends of the earth for him. For the first time he wasn't repulsed by the idea, a strange emotion to be sure. "What's the general feeling in the house Shift?"

"Most of the older mutants, the ones who prefer it here because of what is waiting for them on the outside, agree with Hassan's methods and believe you got what you deserved. I overheard one of them saying how he hoped the amount of lead the droids filled you with would be enough to overdraw the healing factor and see you dead."

Psion chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought and didn't register what Swan had said at first. "What did you just say?"

"I told him to tell you the rest."

Psion looked at Shift's unsure face and gave him an encouraging look.

"They said that if the bullets didn't, they would. They said it was disgusting that Hassan let one of your kind in the house. They say you're dangerous."

"I am," Psion said flatly and was surprised when neither Swan nor Shift flinched.

"They're all afraid of you Psion," Swan said softly. "They leave us alone now, Shift and I. They're all afraid of what you might do to them."

"What?"

"Hassan was carried out on a stretcher, the medical staff were crawling all over him as they pushed his gurney down the hall. The house was in an uproar for days after. Most people respect Hassan, respect and fear him because of his unholy power over them, but you…they are absolutely terrified of you."

"Why?"

Shift cleared his throat, "Hassan's not human, and he's not a mutant either. He's something else. He's what controls what powers are available to whom and when, not electronic devices. The last person who tried to kill him ended up a vegetable, completely stripped of his power." Shift shuddered violently at the thought and refused to say anymore so Swan took up the rest.

"He couldn't stop you and you nearly killed him. The fact that you touched him has everyone running scared because they are afraid you'll be able to do what he does now." Shift broke his silence to add, "And not just to everyone else, but Hassan himself."


	5. Pest Control

Psion stared at them both as if someone had backhand slapped him. Had he taken the gloves off? So blind had been his rage that the only thing he remembered was the horrified look on Hassan's face, the inordinate pleasure he took from it, and the resulting pain of, he could only assume, being shot repeatedly.

"You're pulling my leg." The simultaneous slow shakes of their heads told him they weren't. A slow grin that was decidedly feral stretched slowly across Psion's face. He knew in that moment that Hassan's fate had been sealed. "What time is it?"

"Its," Shift looked around but Swan answered, looking up from her watch, "Eleven thirty in the a.m. Why?"

"I think its time for me to pay a visit with our esteemed Mr. Hassan." Swan and shift exchanged nervous looking grins. "I'll meet you guys in the hall in a few minutes." Shift left with Swan floating along behind him. When the door clicked shut, Psion began the process that was intuitive by now, searching through his psyche for the kernel that would be Hassan. It took longer than he anticipated, but when he'd finally latched onto it he almost emptied his stomach, which was something to be said since he hadn't vomited for over ten years. It was like a rank stench, that part of Hassan's soul. Surely this man wasn't that revolting, was he? The memories present assured Psion that he was. The crystal clear image of a family, spitted alive with the bottom of the spike buried in the ground forcing the humans into a crude imitation of a hand puppet, burned against his minds eyes as he, for a split second, was Hassan. Mounted on a sleek black Spanish Arabian, resplendent in the same outfit Psion had seen.

"Leave them for the ravens." Turning the horse, he cantered away with his men. Psion shuddered and continued searching for that piece of Hassan that was inhibiting the mutants within the mansion. From the outside looking in, an observer would have seen the blank expression turn to a very triumphant smile that even carried to his eyes. They would have seen the half-naked man hop out of bed, hurry over to the wardrobe, get dressed, and disappear in a puff of dark blue smoke and a whiff of brimstone.

Psion reappeared outside in the hall, causing Shift and Swan to nearly suffer from cardiac arrest, "Is Hassan in his office?"

Shift recovered first, grabbing Swan's wrist and looking at the watch dial, "He'll be in the dining room." Something like a light bulb suddenly went off in both of their faces then.

"My powers…all of them…they're…"

"…Free" Shift finished for her breathlessly.

"I've extended a bubble of sorts that negates Hassan's inhibition field. Right now, its local, so you two should be feeling a lot better I'd suspect."

Swan flexed her fingers, "My strength is back."

"And I could hold my shape for as long as I wanted now."

"Good, take my hands," Psion said. Holding them out to them they clutched them like a life raft in stormy waters. "Hold on."

The sound of displaced air echoed in the hall outside the dining room and before the droids had even moved, Swan had crushed the head of one with the heel of her hand and Psion had split the second from crown to crotch with his newly reacquired blade. They three fell silent, listening, but nothing changed in the dining room so for all they could tell, they were still undetected. Psion reached out, unobtrusively sweeping through the minds of the room and confirmed it.

"They don't know we're here. Follow my lead." He leaned back and kicked hard, splintering the door frame as the door swung open hard and crashed into the wall behind it. Silence reigned after the startled sounds of dropped utensils and scraping chairs had ceased. Psion stepped casually into the room, followed by Shift and a floating Swan who soared closer to the ceiling once she'd cleared the doorframe. Psion fixed his gaze on Hassan and slowly spread his control across the room. There were gasps and shudders as powers long dormant and forgotten in some of the older mutants were suddenly reawakened. Many of the older, graying men, suddenly looked younger and more vital. There was a great flexing of fingers as old strengths returned. Psion ignored it, having eyes only for the gradually widening lids of Hassan's until he could see white all around the pupil.

"Hello Hassan. Did we interrupt?" There was a soft hiss of sharply drawn breath as Hassan practically leapt from his chair. "Oh no, don't get up on my account." Psion forced Hassan back into his chair with a firm telekinetic hand.

"Destroy them!" Droids came nearly out of the woodwork, but Psion lashed out with an EMP that dropped them in place. Hassan snarled and growled for the mutants around the table to attack. The handful that obeyed sprinted from the table toward the three of them and before they had cleared the end of it, ran hard into an invisible wall. Psion heard Shift giggle beside him and smiled with him.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Hassan." Psion said as he walked casually to the end of the table, leaving the subdual of the stunned mutants to Shift and Swan's capable hands. He hopped onto the table and walked down its length toward Hassan, whose lividity was growing by the second. He squatted in front of the man and brought the razor thin edge of the vivid pink blade of psionic energy within a millimeter of Hassan's neck. "It seems like not all of us were as loyal as you thought."

Hassan looked over Psion's shoulder at the scant number of mutants, most of them older than Psion, who had noticed as he walked down the table length that all of the older, so-called complacent, mutants had either remained at their place, standing, or retaken their seat with eyes watching everything. Swan floated over to hover near Psion's right shoulder while Shift stood over the bound mutants with a hand that had morphed into an excessively wicked looking blade.

"So, how does it feel to be beaten at your own game?"

Hassan remained silent.

"What's the matter, Hassan? Centuries, millennia even, of knowing nothing but victory didn't prepare you for me. Did it."

Hassan again remained silent but the sheer hatred bubbling through his eyes told him he'd struck a nerve. He scrapped the edge of the blade along Hassan's carefully groomed goatee and shaved a sizeable chunk off, "No one ever told you that you learn more by losing than you ever do by winning."

"What do you want?" The controlled simmer in his voice didn't stop the spittle of rage that foamed out of Hassan's mouth. His shoulders were shaking with that same suppressed rage and Psion could sense that Hassan wanted nothing more than to reach across the distance and brutally savage him. It gave Psion an unnatural sense of joy.

"I am walking out of here. And you can either watch me do it alive, or dead. Shift and Swan are going to come with me, and anyone else who wants to leave will too. I would like to avoid loss of life today, Hassan, but I am not above killing. That neat little file of yours should tell you that. And nothing would please me more than destroying you right here and right now after all the horror you have brought to those around you for your own selfish and power hungry gains. Not to mention the gruesome killings you performed just to satisfy your sadism. I would kill you just for that innocent family you left for the ravens, spitted like a human hand puppet, but I am not utterly lacking of compassion."

Fire raged through Hassan's eyes and Psion pressed the blade closer, watching a small rivulet of blood leak down the pale white neck, "Just give me one reason, Hassan."

The body relaxed with defeat, but the fire didn't recede as, through gritted teeth, Hassan spoke in a raspy voice. "You're all free to go."

Psion glanced back over his shoulder and watched the mass exodus of mutants as they crossed the distance from the table to the door and disappeared into the hall. He looked back into Hassan's violent eyes, "Sorry to be such a home wrecker." He hopped off the table and gripping the back of Hassan's head, smashed his face into the edge of the table. He recognized the blank calm that meant Hassan had fallen unconscious and released his hold on him telekinetically leaving him to fall into a boneless lump onto the floor.

"You both should get out of here."

"What?"

"Why?"

"Because you're free and Hassan and I have unfinished business when he comes to. Go." When they both hesitated, he snarled and lashed out, "NOW!" Something in his soul cracked at the looks of sadness and fear that flitted across their faces but held firm with the look he fixed them both with. They stumbled backwards and fled before that look. With a deep sigh of revulsion for himself, he went over to the heavy curtains and pulled them down, untying the sashes and carrying them with him back to the table. Propping Hassan back in the chair, he bound him hand and foot to the armrests and legs respectively. He went to the kitchen, looking for something flammable, and managed to find a bottle of wine. He carried it out of the kitchen, popping the cork as he went, and took a long swig. It wasn't bad, it was a shame he was about to waste it. He poured most of it on Hassan's lap, the memories he'd taken from Hassan told him of the inflated opinion he had for his skill in bed, then sprinkled the rest of it on the rest of his clothes, hair, and face. He pulled the group of loyal mutants, bound, over nearby and hopped a squat on the table in front of Hassan. He sped Hassan's awakening by stimulating his mind and greeted his groggy consciousness with a lit match. Hassan began to move, writhing in the chair and jerking against the tightly bound curtain sashes.

"You said you weren't going to take lives today!" He shrieked, for the first time his cool composure broken in years.

"I lied." He flicked the lit match into Hassan's lap and without a backward glance strode out of the room as it erupted in flame. The animal screams reached his ears as he made his way out of the mansion. He didn't smile, didn't feel sorry for him, didn't feel anything as he pushed the front door of the mansion open. There was the sound of breaking glass and he glanced in its direction. The windows of the dining room had broken, blown out and belching black smoke and bright orange flames into the bright light of a noonday sun.


	6. Union

Psion crossed the grounds, the sounds of burning timber and the screams of dying mutants echoed behind him, to the garage. He supposed his motorbike was there, but he wouldn't be sure until he was inside. The doors were open, ruts in the gravel showed where freed mutants had either reclaimed their own transportation or stolen from their jailer. As he rounded the corner he froze. Swan and Shift were waiting for him. He forced a look of disgust on his face, antithetical to what he was feeling, and snarled, "What the hell are you two still doing here."

"We have no where else to go." Swan said softly, Shift nodded vigorously in agreement.

"So?" Psion walked past them, making a beeline for his baby. He set to checking her over and found only a few scrapes from the night he'd been taken. It was nice of them to take such care in salvaging the vehicles of the captives. He supposed it was some part of Hassan's vulgar plan. A memory surfaced and Psion rolled his eyes, his more reluctant participants had the vehicles waved before their nose to Hassan's perverse pleasure. He was suddenly glad again for having torched the man crotch first.

"You told him you weren't going to kill him," Swan said softly and very close behind him. Psion whipped around and narrowed his eyes but she stood her ground, leveling her dark blue gaze on his. "Well?"

"I lied." Her gaze made him feel uncomfortable, forcing him to turn back to the bike.

"Why did you do it?"

"Because he deserved to die Swan. He's lived here for thousands of years and has been responsible for some of the most gruesome massacres in our history. I did the world a favor."

"Who died and made you God."

Psion rounded on her and immediately staggered backwards into the bike from the full arm slap she delivered to his face. He heard Shift gasp as she loomed over him and he snarled, "If you don't want to get hurt, back up little girl."

"I'm not a little girl, you son of a bitch." She pulled her arm back and was forcibly thrown through the air by a telekinetic blast. She caught herself mid-flight and floated, staring with both hatred and incredulity.

"You don't want to fuck with me Swan. I've killed mutants more powerful than you and Shift combined, more powerful than Hassan, more powerful than myself. If you're feeling froggy, jump, but I don't want to have to take an innocent life today."

"You've already gone back on a similar vow." She snarled. Out of the corner of his eye, Psion watched Shift try to fade into the background, cringing against the fender of a jeep wrangler.

"Hassan wasn't innocent." He lashed out with his mind, giving her a glimpse of the images from Hassan's memory. Her face turned and she dropped out of the air, vomiting all over the pristine white floor of the garage. He retracted the telepathic link as she retched and spit in an attempt to rid herself of the residue and the taste. Shift looked at both of them repeatedly and finally asked, "What just happened."

"She just saw why I killed Hassan today."

"Why did you kill him?" Shift asked haltingly.

"You really don't want to know kid."

"I'd rather know than not know."

"That's probably one of the more mature things I've heard today," Psion said thoughtfully, seeing Shift for the first time. "Are you ready?" When Shift nodded, he slipped the same images into his mind and once again was thoroughly impressed by the kid's mettle, as he winced, shifted from foot to foot, but stood solid.

Swan had recovered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she staggered to her feet, "You cheated."

"What do you want from me?"

"We have no where to go Psion. Neither of us had a home before, and as much as we appreciate freedom, this has been our home." Shift said, nervously crossing and re-crossing his arms on his chest.

"He's right and we owe you our freedom. I know you don't like the solitude and the loneliness, I can see it in your eyes."

Psion stiffened but said nothing in response.

"Let us come with you."

"Please Psion?"

He watched them, watched their eyes. Swan was right, he hated the solitude and the loneliness, but he was dangerous. He didn't deserve to be around people, he would only hurt them eventually. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, preparing to tell them off and blow out of the garage on his bike, but what he said startled him as much it startled them.

"Fine. Shift, go get that trailer and help me get the bike secured on it. Swan, find the keys for the jeep and top off the tank." He blinked several times, completely taken aback by what he'd said. Perhaps it was time…no one before had been this persistent in pursuing contact with him afterwards. Plus, his honor demanded the truth in what they said. He owed them this much.

As he and Shift wrangled the flatbed trailer into a position that was both accommodating for loading the bike onto it, and baking the jeep up to it, Swan found the keys in the torn open lock box and drove the jeep around behind the garage to top off the tank. The roar of the fire could be heard over the commotion in the garage and Psion wondered how long it would take for it to burn itself out. The garage was out of range, and the closest trees weren't close enough to pose a threat. All these thoughts were passing through his head as he strapped the bike down securely while Shift held it in place. Swan returned with the jeep, and once the trailer had been hitched, Psion climbed into the driver's seat, with Swan beside him and Shift in the back seat with their bags of clothes and personal items they'd collected leading up too and salvaged that afternoon. Without a word, only a glance spared for both of them, Psion shifted the jeep into first gear and they sped away from the burning ruin of their past's.


	7. Prelude

"Can we stay in a hotel tonight…please?" Shift pleaded from the backseat of the jeep. Swan lifted her wind-whipped hair away from her face and gazed at Psion from the passenger seat. Her expression said she wasn't going to beg, she could prove another night on the ground wouldn't be the death of her but she would really enjoy a shower and a soft bed under her.

Psion glanced over at her, his face never leaving the road but watched her briefly out of the corner of his eye. Sure the road ahead was clear enough and straight enough, he turned to look at Shift, "Why?"

"Because Swan is tired of sleeping in the dirt and would like to have a shower."

Psion laughed out loud as Swan glared over her shoulder at him, "Don't pin this on me bucko."

Shift shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable, "All right, I'm tired of sleeping in the dirt and smelling like ass. Can we? It'll be dark soon."

Psion mulled it over, could feel Swan's gaze on him. It made him feel…uncomfortable, like she was looking at more than just him. He resisted the urge to wander into her mind and answered Shift. "If it gets dark before we pass an exit with a hotel, then no." He felt the excitement in the open cab of the Wrangler before he heard Shift's whoop of pleasure over the roar of the wind. Swan, he could see, was wearing a pleased smile. It was an effort not to slip inside her head and find out what she was thinking, but these two were different. They weren't pawns anymore, they hadn't allowed it and they respected him. The least he could do was respect their privacy and not enter their minds.

They passed exit after exit and Shift was beginning to get more and more nervous about having to spend the night somewhere in the dirt. Psion hoped there would be a hotel soon because Shift would be intolerable all night if there wasn't. The headlights washed over the blue sign to the side of the interstate. It listed a selection of three hotels and Shift's head poked between the front seats gibbering, "Did you see? Did you see?"

Psion suddenly felt much like the father, and wondered briefly if Swan felt like the mother, to the unruly child in their back seat, but he merely nodded and kept his eyes open for the coming exit. He could see Shift bouncing up and down in the rear view mirror and the boys enthusiasm made him share an amused look with Swan as the Wrangler took the turn of the exit and the headlights washed over the sign. "Days Inn, Comfort Inn, Sleep Inn, or what the hell is that one?"

"I didn't see it." Swan said, squinting into the darkness as they went past the sign. Shift merely shrugged and Psion ignored it. The exit ended at a street with traffic lights painting the asphalt green and red. The hood of the Jeep turned red as they pulled to the stop bar. Psion watched the road turn yellow and finally red, turned the wheel and headed in the direction of the hotel whose name they had all missed. Swan and Shift were peering into the darkness as it was peeled away by the headlights until they crested the hill and saw the lit sign for a Double Tree.

"Ah-h-h, so that's what it was." Psion felt their eyes on him as he pulled into the parking lot. "One hotel is no different from the other. We're here now, might as well stay. Stay with the Jeep, I'll be out in a moment." He pulled in front of the sliding glass doors to the lobby, put the Jeep in park but left it idling as he went inside. He had cash, a virtually limitless bank account set up somewhere. It had been set up by the organization to keep him supplied when they started using him for missions. His escape should have frozen the account, but he'd had it all transferred to another offshore account. Millions of dollars and he was a vagrant. The idea made him chuckle as he went to the front desk.

"How may I help you sir?" The question always irritated him, what the hell else could be need pulling into a hotel parking lot and going to the front desk as dusk became night.

"Three rooms, one on the ground floor if possible." Psion watched the man's fingers fly along the keys of the computer, gray eyes watching the screen. He smiled, gave the price for the rooms, and accepted the id that Psion was sure only contained one pure piece of information. The clerk's eyes lingered on the gloves but said nothing. He was handed three electronic keys and the id back and bid Psion a good night. "Thanks partner." He left the clerk behind and returned to the car, singling out the first floor key for his own room and stuffing it into a pocket. As he approached the Wrangler he tossed Swan and Shift their keys and climbed into the drivers seat. Driving around to the rear of the hotel, he parked in a manner that would allow them quick escape if necessary, turned off the engine, pocketed the keys, and climbed down from the Jeep. Retrieving his bag from the trailer with his bike, he gave them both a mock salute and went in through the back door.

He found his room about seven doors down from exit he'd come in through. Sliding the key into the lock, he glanced into the parking lot and saw Swan already heading toward the door as Shift rummaged in the back seat to regather his things. He smiled sadly and slipped inside his room. The room was cool, the way he liked it, as he tossed his bag onto the chair in the corner. He turned on the television, tuned it to CNN, and let the words of the newscasters cascade through his mind. His hearing picked up the door outside opening and closing to admit Swan. Moments later it opened and closed again to admit Shift. A door…he assumed next too his, opened, and wondered which of the two had gotten the room that was connected by the pair of heavy metal doors beside the drawer unit upon which was perched the television. Stripping down to his skivvies, he carried all his clothes into the bathroom but thought better of it. There had to be a laundry room on this level.


	8. Lose Control

The laundry room was down the hall, past the lobby, and in a room next to the ice machine. He never understood the necessity of getting ice…he supposed it had to do with some sort of obsessive-compulsive behavior that humans had. There's an ice bucket, it had to be filled with ice whether it'd just melt there over night or not. Seated on the washer, he waited with arms crossed over his chest. And what was the deal with people coming out of their rooms in movies and on television with hair rumpled and wearing as little clothing as was decent, obviously having just finished fucking, to go get ice? Thirsty maybe? Or were they going to use it during the second round of bunny love. John shook his head and glanced behind him, the dial told him he still had twenty minutes to go. Sighing he hopped off the washer, having decided to go find a magazine or watch CNN in the lobby. He nearly knocked Swan over at the door and froze. She jumped, startled, and looked at him. He realized for the first time that she was his height exactly. It was…thrilling. He couldn't find another word for it, "Sorry."

"No, I was coming to do laundry."

"Really? Where are your clothes." He said the last as a statement not a question and she looked away, her cheeks turning red. "What were you really doing here Swan?"

"I…well…"

He decided to save her the discomfort and lashed out briefly with his own mind, he read her surface thoughts despite the hard fought and hard won control he had over his face, he couldn't stop his eyes from widening, "You hate my kind, you know what physical touch…why?"  
"You're so much…more, than what we'd been scared with as children about ones like you. And Rogue." She added his female opposite number almost as an after thought, like she was trying to make it less personal. He didn't read her mind again though to find out.

"That doesn't matter, Swan…"

"Chloe. Please?"

"Please what?"

"When it's just the two of us, I prefer Chloe."

"Oh." John glanced away, focusing on the washer dial. It told him only a couple minutes had passed. "Look, Chloe, I'm flattered. Really, but it would never work."

"Even if you wore a condom?"

If he had been eating, or drinking, he would have choked and spent a while trying to cough as a cover to regain a measure of composure. She was still talking, "You rescued us, saved us from that…life Hassan was forcing us to live. I…I'm not a kid, I'm not a virgin its been a while, and it's the least I…"

John pressed a gloved finger over her lips, "Its not that Chloe, I'm flattered." A door opened nearby and he pulled her into the laundry room and shut the door. The only sound was their breathing and the washer as he hunted for the words, avoiding her eyes while he did. He decided to just ramble until something came out, "Conceivably, yes, wearing a condom would keep me from…touching…you. But there are a handful of other places that our skin would touch, and rub. It wouldn't be worth the effort because you wouldn't get anything out of it." He briefly wondered why she thought sex was a good way to repay him, "I'd have to be fully clothed, there is no fun in that. It would feel…weird, besides you don't owe me anything Chloe. I did what I did because you and Frankie didn't deserve that life. No one did, even the ones that kept the world outside Hassan's mansion safe shouldn't have been caged and suppressed like that." Something about what he'd just said triggered a line of thought but he filed it away for future reference, "Believe me Chloe, I wouldn't say no if there weren't so many complications."

She looked hurt when he turned to finally look at her and he felt something in his chest crack a little. She turned away from his gaze and took a half-step back. He felt uncomfortable around her hurt but he went against his instincts and cupped her left cheek in his hand, turning her face gently to look at his. Tears were glimmering on the lower lids of her eyes and if he could, he would have kissed them away. "I can't control the…for lack of better word, incubus in me. It takes without my want. I don't think it can be stopped, ever. It's why I avoid people. I've hurt too many people because of this curse and I don't want to hurt Frankie and especially you." He said the words as comfort, not meant to carry any real meaning, but something in him told him there was a weight to those words. Was he falling for her? Oh God…no. He couldn't, he had to get away.

"It's more than just sex, John. I've watched you this last week, watched how you are, seen the man beneath all the bluff," she reached up with hands hesitating just over the skin of his face. "I…"

He reached up, taking her wrists in his hands, "Swan…" The buzzer on the washer went off and they both jumped nearly out of their skins. Something else happened then. Another kind of buzzing started in John's head. He winced and judging by the look on Swan's face, there was more pain indicators riding there than he was aware of. The buzzing got louder, it became voices, a scream ripped its way out of his throat, and he lashed out in an act of protection. Swan was sent flying, taking the laundry room door off its hinges as she went as he screamed at her to run! He had a moment to think that Swan was made of stronger stuff than she looked and his mind was consumed.


	9. Intervention

It was as if he was outside himself, watching from miles in the air as his body lashed out. Swan took to the air and bolted down the hall in the direction of their rooms. Is she getting Shift out? He tried to exert control over himself but the raging war of personalities batted him aside. He was there, for the ride, and there watching from a distance. It was confusing and disorienting and he wanted it to stop! Panic rode up but he tamped it down. Floating several inches above the floor, he drifted into the hall past the ruins of the door. Swan and Shift spilled into the hall, coming out of his room. He looked bewildered and her mouth was moving too fast for him to read from this distance. It angered something inside him and a ball of energy lashed out, howling down the hall and striking Swan in the chest. She took the second fall of the evening as she shattered the plate glass window that looked out onto the lamp lit parking lot.

John winced and teleported. He was outside now, standing over the shredded back of Swan's top. She was bleeding and there were shards of glass in her back. Dark arms encircled his neck and he bucked to get the offender off. Shift's voice filtered to his ear. "PSION, WHAT ARE YOU DOING! STOP!" John looked and Swan was pinned against the nearest street lamp, grappling for a hold on invisible hands on her throat. Sirens pierced the strange silence and the psionic released Swan. Reaching back, the feral grabbed Shift by his shirt and flung him across the parking lot. He bounced once and came to a halt near a black SUV, limp. Swan was picking herself up off the asphalt as the screech of tires surrounded him. The feral snarled, and the psionic lashed out. Police cars spun across the lot in a squeal of rubber and the crunch of metal. A smirk played across his face, out of place among the tears streaming down John's face. Bullets whined through the air. One, two, three struck him and sent him in a whirl to the ground. He caught himself on his hands, spat blood and the feral grinned out of John's face. The holes were closing as rapidly; faster even, than the bullets being pumped into his body. John was thankful the feral he'd contacted had had a regenerative ability that sped up the faster the damage was dealt. The feral stood, grinning like a lunatic as it advanced on the nearest uniform. She fired repeatedly until her finger was sending the hammer against an empty chamber. Terror filled her amber eyes and a force like a freight train barreled over him. John felt himself being jostled between four thick churning legs and when he came out of the roll he was staring down a rhinoceros with nostrils flared, Shift? Neat trick; the teleported moved, he was on Shift's back. The psion and the feral worked in tandem, drawing the bladeless hilt from his belt and channeling the energies through it to create the semi-transparent blade of energy. He raised the blade up, grip reversed, and Shift changed. A bull bucked him and he was airborne. More gunfire followed him as he hit with an impact that sent the hilt clattering across the parking lot. Cursing, he felt his insides shifting, healing the internal injuries and rejecting the bullets that were still being pumped into his body. Strong, slender, hands grabbed him by his neck and he was airborne again. Cursing, he looked up and cloned himself. Four John's attacked Swan in the air. Two arms were required to beat off the attacks so she let him go. He plummeted to the ground and as he hit, he phased. He went subterranean; his hearing sent the confusion in the police's voices straight to his brain. Tears were still streaming down John's face as he burst through the asphalt. Arms and hands went to work. He snapped the neck of one uniform, ripped the arm off another and threw it with such a force that it knocked several more uniforms backward onto their butts. The feral launched an attack, peppering the patrol cars with pure energy bullets. They all dove for cover. Two of his clones had broken off and were grappling with Shift as he went from animal form to animal form, to human form. The teleporter concentrated through the cloner and all five John's went into transit. The reappeared as a united front; fire and ice lanced outward, joined with psionic lashes of telekinetic energy and pure bursts of energy. The cops were firing again, from behind the cover of their vehicles. He didn't see Shift or Swan, part of him was concerned, the feral, and John was worried about their safety. His eyes, he knew, were glowing by now. He knew he had to look ferocious time five. The uniforms were putting up a valiant effort to take him down, John hoped and prayed they would but he knew he could live through the nuclear wash of a venting reactor…if the world ended tomorrow in a nuclear war, he, Wolverine, and a perhaps a handful of other mutants would be the only ones left standing. He wanted it, prayed desperately for it to end, but it wouldn't. It couldn't. The buzzing was getting worse; John knew he was losing himself to the multiple personalities battling within him for dominance just as they fought the local forces as a team. Something hit him again and he was down. Hurt, hurt enough that he had to recall the clones. They converged and he struggled back to a kneeling position. The feral howled and grinned furiously, blood painted his lips and chin as it growled a challenge at the police. John looked at himself, he was covered with blood. His clothes were torn tattered, hanging in shredded rags about his shoulders and waist. The psion lashed out again, police cars went somersaulting into the air as it asserted its dominance over the others. John knew he was going to the place he'd kept them locked away together. Had that been his first folly? Keeping them all together? He should have locked them away separately. Would that have made a difference? The psion cackled as it took control, then someone else rose like a devil out of the fires of hell. John screamed the other personalities shifted uncomfortably, as Hassan rose in his consciousness. No, no, no! He's dead! No, he wouldn't let Hassan have his body, never, never! John started to fight but he was weak; blood loss, fatigue from the fight, and the ravages of so many mutations running through him all at once. John the body would live, John the soul would die. He struggled, fighting through the clawing, steel fingered hands, of the personalities. Fighting for air, fighting for daylight, fighting to live; Hassan turned to him and smiled, a pleased little smile that John hated. He wanted to tear it off Hassan's smug face. He reached out to do it but another arm, another hand, another face, another body, pressed him down, down, down into the deep abyss that was his mind. John screamed at the press of ethereal bodies. He was no longer paying attention to what he was doing, but he was aware of new fires burning, new bodies moaning, new sirens approaching. Ice lashed out like a frozen angel of death, energy burned like electricity. He no longer even knew what he was doing; he just wanted to force Hassan out of the top seat! Something hit him again, and he was on his back. A nearly weightless form with too strong hands held him down; he prepared to destroy whoever dared stop him when a face filtered through it all. John knew that face…that face was calling to him, pleading with him to come back to them. The other personalities seemed perplexed, Hassan seemed afraid, John used that to claw his way out of the darkness. It was Swan? The gunfire had ceased, the fires still crackled softly. Boots echoed as firefighters scurried to put them out before they could spread. John looked up at Swan through his own eyes again, bloodshot and fuzzy from the tears. Hassan clawed at his back, the other personalities were clawing at whatever they could get their hands. What was Swan doing here? Another presence…immediate and yet far away suddenly invaded his mind. The image of a bald man with intense dark blue eyes swam before his vision and he felt something, sharp but painless, snap inside his head. Darkness descended as surely as a light switch pitching a windowless room into nothingness and John knew peace…


	10. A New Hope?

John woke with a pounding headache and immediately drew in on himself. Walls, old walls, walls he'd thought were safe and unbreakable that had fallen like the walls of Jericho before the trumpets of his multiple personalities, went up immediately. Practiced motions that he still remembered instinctually but had gotten lazy in keeping up. He was chastising himself for his lax self-discipline when there was the soft sound of a whirring motor. Where was he? He sniffed, breathing in deeply and the air smelled like disinfectant. A hospital?

"Those walls will only be temporary again, John." A kindly voice, well schooled, mannered, echoed slightly in the clean room. John opened his eyes slowly, letting the light dilate his pupils gradually. He became aware of a hand holding his and jerked his hand back. The grip tightened and he panicked a little before he realized his hands were sheathed in the skin-tight leather gloves. At least one thing had made it through that nightmare whole. He spared a glance and saw a mane of white hair nestled against his sheet covered leg. Swan?

"She's all right," the voice said again and John finally turned to look at its source. A sharp intake of breath and he stared. Charles Xavier smiled and wheeled closer to the bed. "You're lucky to be alive."

"That's an understatement Chuck." Xavier didn't move, or flinch at the name, but the voice brought John's attention off the legendary telepath to rest on the solidly compact little man leaning against the doorframe. John stared in something akin to pure hero worship as he took in the wiry black hair that framed a narrow face with pointed, animal, features.

"Where am I?"

"He's a bright one."

Xavier waved a patient hand to silence Logan and addressed John directly. "Westchester, New York. My people brought you here for medical attention."

John felt the words, "I don't need medical attention" die somewhere between his throat and his tongue and instead he simply said, "Thank you." He needed help, he knew it.

"Who is this kid?" Logan asked as he pushed himself off the doorframe using only his shoulders and strode into the room, dark eyes sizing him up. Xavier ignored him and continued where he'd left off. "Those walls you put up? The barriers are only temporary. They will attempt to get out again and next time I fear neither you, nor I, nor that young woman, will be able to stop them."

"You put up one hell of a fight kid." Logan said roughly as he finally stopped moving a step behind Xavier's chair.

"They kept going even after you knocked me out, didn't they." It wasn't a question, John knew it was true, but he still wanted to hear it from one of the two. The words of praise from Logan, however, hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

Xavier nodded and Logan snorted, "What is this kid?"

"I'm like Rogue…only…I was experimented upon." John wanted to avoid that line of thought, but could see from Logan's sudden interest he wouldn't be able to for long. "What happened to the cops? The ones I left alive…"

"The ones that were alive when we got there were trying to stay out of yer warpath."

"They're looking for me," but Logan interrupted with a sharp shake of his head and Xavier explained. "Logan led the team that went to get you. They kept you busy while I worked in your mind, shutting down each of the personalities in turn. Once you'd been subdued, they brought you here while I altered the memories of all involved."

"Don't worry kid, everyone thinks a gas leak blew up the parking lot and when emergency and medical personnel arrived to secure the scene a secondary explosion went off. You're Scott-free."

Something about that offended John's morals somewhere deep. It didn't feel right on several levels. Mass memory altering, him getting away with countless murders and crimes…he should pay for them somehow. He wondered how he even had morals anymore…perhaps it wasn't morality, or conscience but just good old fashioned honor. Something must have read on his face because Xavier reached forward and touched him through the smock, "I know it is hard to accept, but it was what had to be done. The help you need can't be found in a normal hospital. You would only lose control again, and again, until you were consumed. I can help you."

Swan stirred by his knee and blinked pale eyes at first Logan, then Xavier, and finally John. He smiled at her and relief poured over her features like a waterfall, "Professor is he going to be all right now?"

"He will be, Chloe, he will be."

John hoped the bald man was right.


End file.
